The Color of Your Voice
by Imagimanga
Summary: Chromesthesia is when the brain turns sounds into colors. Every sound has a color. And Kenma would like to see the colors of day instead of Kuroo's colors of night.


**AN: Based loosely on a tumblr post: post/136343554925/kenma-has-synesthesia-and-sees-colours-very#notes**

 **I don't know if the link works, if it doesn't and you want to check it notify me if it doesn't. Also, I have no idea how chromesthesia works, so if I get something wrong, I'm so sorry.**

* * *

It is a cold winter day, and the weatherman said that snow would be falling tonight. That is the only thing on Kenma's mind right now. Until Kuroo's red voice calls for him.

Kenma looks up from his PSP and Kuroo calls for him again. The second-year puts down his gaming device and walks over to his friend. "What is it, Kuro?"

Kuroo looks down and laughs. "You really couldn't hear me, huh?"

The other shakes his head. "I couldn't hear you. What did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted to come eat with us."

"Really?" Kenma asks. Kuroo sighs dramatically. The blond can hear the throaty sigh drop down to a deep note at the end.

"Are you busy?"

Kenma shakes his head. "I'm trying to beat a level in my game."

"Which one? Is it the game I bought for you?" Kuroo's voice falls then rises when he asks a question, Kenma notices. He has a deep voice.

"Yeah," Kenma answers. "I've been trying to beat the level for a long time."

"Are you stalling?"

"No." Kenma is not stalling. In fact, to him it is the complete opposite. He wants Kuroo to keep on talking. He wants to hear the confusing wine red and black voice resonate inside his head.

Kuroo pauses. "Are you going to eat with us?"

"Sure," Kenma answers.

* * *

"And then she falls into my arms, and I catch her. Then she asked which school I go to." Kuroo tells the others. Lev and Bokuto listen to the story intently.

Kenma listens to Kuroo's voice grow loud and strong when he tells them the story. He closes his eyes and Kuroo continues in his voice of 'fireworks'. A silky wine red splashes in his eyes. The red is vibrant and a black ombre covers the edges of the red splotch. Red and black, then there is a small amount of plum color mixed in with the red. The red is soft, but bright. Black spirals around like a vine around the mixed colors. It is a complicated thing for Kenma to describe.

"Kenma-san, are you okay?" The boy in question opens his eyes and sees Lev's face across from the table. "Are you sick?" The voice is silvery and yellow-orange. Bright and loud.

"I'm fine," Kenma says.

"Are you watching the colors again?" Kuroo asks. Kenma nods. The other two look at Kuroo curiously and he explains. "He has chromesthesia."

"Whoa..." Lev speaks in awe. "What's that?"

"It means that he can hear colors," Kuroo answers. "People with it see colors in 'fireworks'. Apparently yours is silver, yellow, and orange."

"Oh, then what about me?!" Bokuto asks.

"Shades of blue and white," Kuroo says.

"And yours?"

Kuroo glances towards Kenma. "You never told me what mine is."

"Your color is weird," Kenma states, looking away. "I can't really explain it."

Kuroo's mouth twitches downwards. Bokuto calls him to continue the story anyway and he turns his head. He tells the story as if nothing bothered him.

* * *

"BYE!" Lev and Bokuto yell out. They part from Kuroo and Kenma and leave in the opposite direction.

Kenma and Kuroo walk home together, the air silent between them. Kuroo looks down at Kenma who plays a game on his PSP. The smaller boy fixes his scarf to cover his cold neck. Strands of blond hair fall off the shell of his ear and Kuroo finds the urge to fix Kenma's hair behind his small ear. His ears that hear everything. His ears that hear the colors. To Kuroo, it is strange how people have that ability. Kenma even told him that some people apply colors to numbers, letters, or months. Other people can taste words. Some feel certain sensations on their body when they hear particular words. And then this boy, Kenma, out of all the rest Kuroo could befriend has the ability to hear colors.

He doesn't talk much about it. But Kuroo knows that Hinata's voice is orange and yellow. Then Tsukishima is green, blue, and yellow. Nekoma's coach's voice is a muddy gray and bronze. When people are cheering on the sidelines at matches, blurs of colors turn into a hazy black. It's why Kenma values silence. Kenma enjoys the silent and peaceful moments, because he can't see any colors except for the colors marking the dogs' barking and the birds' singing. Kuroo wonders how he can handle music.

"Hey, Kenma," he begins, "how do you handle music?"

"I don't really listen to a lot of music except for instrumentals," Kenma answers quickly and quietly.

Kuroo stares down at Kenma. He _really_ values silence. He weighs his chances. Kuroo wants to talk to Kenma. But if the other really wants it to be quiet, then so be it... Well, a few more questions wouldn't hurt.

"What about your own voice?"

"Honey gold and caramel brown," he says.

"Do you like the quiet? Like, when I'm not talking?"

Kenma whips his head up and his eyes meet Kuroo's. The taller boy feels like he should regret asking that question, but Kenma doesn't glare at him vehemently. He just stares up as if he is confused, but knowing.

"What?" Kenma asks.

"Do you like it when I'm not talking?" Kuroo asks.

"That wasn't what the question was before."

Kuroo observes the younger boy. He is stalling, halting, commanding. Kenma bites his lip in habit like he always does when he is careful. It's a trait Kuroo finds endearing of his childhood friend. "What question should I ask?"

"Which question do you want me to answer?"

"Do you like it when I'm not talking?" Kuroo repeats. He gulps nervously out of suspicion. "Do you not like the colors you see? Is that why you don't tell me?"

Kenma stares at him accusingly. "That's not it, Kuro."

Kuroo watches with curious eyes. "Then what is it?"

"It's a complicated color."

"It can't be that complicated."

"It's hard to describe."

"Is it a dark color? Or a light one? Oh man, please don't tell me it's hot pink."

Kenma smiles softly. "It's not pink."

"If it's not pink, then what is it?"

"I don't know."

" _Kenma."_

The boy freezes. His fingers stop moving across the device and a soft sound of defeat sounds in the air. Kenma is almost scared to look up at Kuroo. His eyes brush upwards, and through the spaces of hair strands, he looks at Kuroo. The other stares at Kenma's bright eyes and Kenma looks down.

"Wh- Hm?"

"What do you mean 'hm?' I say your name and you just stop. What's going on?"

"Nothing, Kuro." He makes his way to keep walking.

" _Kenma."_

Kenma doesn't stop walking, but the colors flash brightly.

" _Kenma,"_ Kuroo calls, "stop moving."

Moving. Moving. Kenma does not stop moving. Because that's the only way out of the mess. Keep on moving, the colors will fade. Stop and stay, the colors will cloud his mind. And it does not help-

It does not help that the avid sparks of pale pink sync with the loud beat of his heart.

As always. Ever since first-year. And in less than a few months, it will be gone and replaced with an aching blackened red.

If Kenma could bottle up Kuroo's voice, he would.

If Kenma could take the fireworks and light them in his head everyday, he would.

That silky wine red. The red that sparks off the tongue of Kuroo's mouth. And the black that resonates with his sighs and breath in the impossibly silent night air. The plum that drips, echoing his excited and questioning sentences. And the pale pink that syncs with the loud beat of Kenma's heart. Then the cloudy gray of Kenma's voice telling him to stop. Stop feeling. Stop seeing. Stop hearing. Red, black, and plum. The color of your voice is always dark but clear. They send sparks of pale pink through Kenma's nerves and clouds of gray out of his mouth. So many shadowy colors—where are the bright yellow and orange reminding of day? These colors that represent the dim night reside in his heart. But he cannot stand it. He wants bright colors of red and purple. But that would not be Kuroo. Kuroo is a silky wine red, strings of black, and drops of plum. And Kenma wants Kuroo. He wants to hear his voice. He wants to see these colors. Kenma wants Kuroo. But he is sick of these colors; Kenma wishes to leave them. He wants more.

Kuroo grabs Kenma's wrist. _"Kenma."_

"What is it?" he asks hastily.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Why won't you listen then?"

Kuroo drives him in a corner. Kenma looks past the other boy's shoulders. He needs to go home. Kuroo needs to go home. The both of them should have just went home like normal. But Kenma isn't normal. He can see colors others can't. And that's why he's here, with that pale pink coursing in his cheeks. Kenma meets Kuroo's eyes.

"I don't want to tell you. Can't you understand that?"

"Then why can't you just tell me that?" Kuroo asks, a worried tone in his voice. Silver. That is the color of his worry. _"Kenma."_

He hisses an intake of breath. That color is different.

" _Kenma."_ Firm, strong, bold, caring.

This color is different.

 _Kenma._

Honey gold and caramel brown.

"Get it together!" Kuroo shouts. "Why can't you tell me these kinds of things?"

"I just don't want to," Kenma mumbles and closes his eyes, taking in the warm colors.

"Why?"

"I just don't want to."

" _Kenma."_

 _Keep on speaking._ Kenma sighs. _Just like that. Say that. Say it again. Just like that._

"We're friends, aren't we?"

Sky blue, white, and green. Colors like a field of flowers. Kenma drinks it up like a drug.

"Why won't you answer?" Kuroo grumbles. _"Kenma."_

"Say it again," he whispers softly. Almost inaudible to the point that Kenma didn't hear it himself.

"What? _Kenma!_ "

" _Keep on speaking."_

Kuroo stops and steps back. "What are you saying?" He looks over the boy and furrows his brows in confusion. He steps in and a sudden wave of worry rushes over him. What if I did something wrong?

Kenma opens his eyes, revealing fear and embarrassment. "H- huh? What?" he stuttered. Purple.

The taller boy closes in on Kenma and, slowly, almost hesitantly, wraps his arms around him. "What's wrong with my voice?"

"N- nothing's wrong."

"There's something wrong. I know it."

"But-"

" _Kenma."_

Kenma sighs and finds himself hugging Kuroo. He breathes in the smell of Kuroo's jacket. It smells of warmth and the fading scent of laundry detergent. Kenma digs his head into Kuroo's chest, wanting more of the smell. It somehow smelled like cinnamon.

"Keep..." Kenma gathers his courage, "keep on speaking."

"Like what?" Kuroo's deep voice sends surges of red to Kenma's cheeks. "...What's wrong? Is that what you want me to say?"

"No..." Kenma answers slowly. "Say... my name."

"Kenma?"

"Not like that."

"Kenma."

"No."

Kuroo finds himself impatient of the current situation and he sighs. What did he want from him? _"Kenma."_

"Like that," Kenma responds, and he buries his face in the scent of Kuroo's jacket. He tightens his grip on the jacket. The scent of the fresh night air finds its way into Kenma's breath as well. "Just like that."

" _Kenma."_

Honey gold and caramel brown.

"Say it again."

" _Kenma."_

Honey gold and caramel brown. Warm colors like the warm jacket in which Kenma buries his head. "Just like that," he sighs.

" _Kenma,"_ Kuroo's honey and caramel voice says. He proceeds in a different color. A very different color. Completely different from the others. "Do you like my voice?"

Hopeful, wondering, caring, _loving._ These aren't sparks anymore. Silky wine red drops from Kenma's fingertips like blood. Black ribbons fall from their off-beat breaths. A light purple completely takes over Kenma's sight. It distracts him from the sight of red and black colors. The pale pink beats of their synchronized hearts thunders in the corners of his eyes. All of these clear colors blind him from his gray voice calling out for more.

"Say it again..."

" _Kenma."_

Kuroo loosens his grip on Kenma and brings a hand to the smaller boy's cheek. Kenma lifts his head and looks up at Kuroo. The other caresses Kenma's cheek with his thumb. "Do you like my voice, Kenma?"

Kenma doesn't answer. "Say my name again... please... I like the colors."

"Do you like me?"

"...Please?"

Kuroo leans his forehead on Kenma's. He stares at the boy's open mouth, calling out his name. _Kuro. Kuro. Kuro, please say my name. I like the colors._ _There's nothing wrong with your voice._ If only I could see these colors you like so much, then maybe I could understand why you enjoy the sight. Kuroo continues to carve illegible shapes into Kenma's cheek. He continues to watch silently, with Kenma calling his name. Maybe this is what he means by liking the colors. He likes his name. He likes the way it's said. He wouldn't indulge in him. What colors do you see in me? What makes you look at me the way I look at you?

Kenma whispered over and over again for Kuroo's voice and suddenly he stops. "Are you... annoyed?"

His eyes closed. Kuroo brings his other hand around Kenma's waist. "What do you want me to say?"

"You... don't have to," Kenma says. "I just like the colors."

What a strange way to say I love you, Kuroo thought.

"I love you."

And the colors roll off like the tide on a beach, leaving soft impressions in the sand. Then lips touch Kenma's flushed cheekbones and the both of them feel red in their skin. Kuroo's lips drop down to the middle of Kenma's cheek and he breaths against the red, soft skin, causing a shiver down Kenma's spine and in his lips. The warm breathing draws out a sigh from their throats and gray puffs escape into the cold air like smoke.

Then Kuroo lets the edge of his lips meet the edge of Kenma's and he pulls him closer—if there was such a thing. He lets off a soft brush of their lips and he parts and then he goes to the other cheek. He isn't ready yet. Kenma feels a rush of purple in his palms as he tightens his grasp on Kuroo's jacket. Kuroo slips his other hand into honey gold and caramel brown locks. He looks down at Kenma's pink lips in the white of the snow and then he closes his eyes. Now everything is black.

Kuroo brushes his lips against Kenma's, then he slowly presses them together, scared almost. What is he scared of? Maybe it's rejection. But there is none. He fits his lips on Kenma's and the other complies. He gives in. Kenma lets Kuroo's breaths of black overtake him. The younger boy feels a lick of shock down his spine and surrounding his lips. He opens his mouth in response to this feeling, and Kuroo caves into Kenma's mouth.

Their breaths clash. Kuroo lets go and comes in like waves—only letting their breathing catch up. Black and gray. When Kenma lets go, he calls for the other, and Kuroo shushes the other with his name. Gold, brown, and gray. The entire sensation makes splotches of orange, pink, and yellow spark in Kenma's eyes. Like the sunrise. And Kenma can see the gray. It clashes with the other colors that make up Kuroo. But it fits so perfectly like Kuroo's lips on his. Gray. Gray is beautiful. It is his color. It is with Kuroo's colors.

And now Kuroo's colors are also his.

Kuroo stops. He looks down at Kenma's smiling face and sighs contentedly. "I love you." Orange, pink, and yellow.

Kenma smiles happily at the other, sending a flurry of happiness and delight into Kuroo's face. Kuroo grinned back proudly. Kenma averts his eyes out of embarrassment, but his voice sounds clear and loving. "Kuro..."

Gray. And Kuroo didn't know it. But he liked the gray of Kenma's voice.


End file.
